


25- Tools of his Trade

by distantstarlight



Series: 31_Days_of_Porn_Challenge_2017 [25]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 31 Days of Porn Challenge 2017, Day 25, M/M, five senses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-26
Updated: 2017-05-26
Packaged: 2018-11-05 01:20:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11003013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distantstarlight/pseuds/distantstarlight
Summary: John Watson lives with Sherlock Holmes yet again only this time he has a whole new appreciation of his best friend's talents.





	25- Tools of his Trade

**Author's Note:**

> Day 25 of the 31 Days of Porn Challenge as issued by AtlinMerrick!
> 
> I was grumpy all day and didn't really feel like writing so this dragged on and on and I have doubts. This was nothing like I wanted and later on I'm going to revist this prompt when I don't feel so sulky.

There were many things John hadn’t realised he missed. He was running just behind Sherlock, both men moving as fast as they could, chasing their suspect from building to building down one street after another. His heart raced and his muscles strained and it was magnificent. By the time they apprehended the miscreant, John felt buoyant in a way that he hadn’t in a really long time.

Afterwards, John and Sherlock made their way home, stopping for an early dinner or a very late lunch. It definitely wasn’t tea because both of them did a good job of polishing off enough food to feed four adults, but then, it had been days since they’d had time to refuel and rest properly. “I called your sister. Apparently my parents contacted her and have spirited them all away to the countryside. Mummy says that we can come collect Rosie there whenever we are recuperated but not to rush. John, I feel that my mother is using your child to blackmail me into visiting.”

John laughed, too tired to be shocked or dismayed that Mummy Holmes had co-opted his daughter. Violet and Sieger were very eager to adopt Rosie as their own, pointedly eyeing both their childless sons even as they coddled Rosie an almost unhealthy amount. John didn’t even try to stop them. As far as he was concerned, there was no way to spoil a child with too much love. He guiltily admitted that he was also grateful that his baby was in the hands of such doting people while he indulged in his favourite hobby, fighting crime with Sherlock. “She might be at that.”

Sherlock tilted his head, clearly picking something up in John’s tone, “Don’t feel that way, John. You have given my parents an opportunity they might never have had. Mycroft may yet produce a child but I have never planned to, so there we are. You are my best friend, and dear to them as well. Of course they’re going to emotionally manipulate me to do as they wish, they’re grandparents. Your child has been weaponised.”

John had to laugh, “All Holmes’ are vulnerable to her powers! Even Mycroft has gotten over his _fully functioning_ phase.” They’d caught Mycroft snuggling Rosie more than once. Once he’d been outed, the once distant bureaucrat was nearly as involved as Sherlock’s parents, overcompensating for his absence by providing Rosie with every purchasable comfort he could arrange from diaper services to learning toys of every possible permutation. John had definitely stepped in there, his daughter didn’t need to travel around with a transport lorry to hold her gadgets, not until she was at least three.

They made their way back to 221 B Baker Street, stopping in long enough to greet Mrs Hudson and tell her a bit about the case before turning in for the rest of the day. They were full, exhausted, and both in dire need of a shower, a fact that Mrs Hudson gently pointed out as she shooed them on their way upstairs.

Sherlock let John go first because John’s shoulder was prone to binding up and aching like the devil. Sherlock’s back gave him grief too but he could stand to wait a little longer for his hot shower. John was grateful and did his best to make it quick. After cleaning his teeth, John put on pants, covered up with his robe, and went to make tea while Sherlock had his turn. By the time Sherlock was washed up, John had selected a movie to watch, had hot tea waiting, and was comfortably ensconced on one side of the sofa, his feet up on the coffee table. “Excellent.” Sherlock leant over and inhaled some of the fragrant steam from his cup. “I’ve always enjoyed the scent of bergamot.”

John just smiled and started the movie. Sinking back into the cushions, he found that his entire body was relaxing. Sherlock hummed with contentment and then a second pair of feet were on the table, both of them unwinding slowly from the frantic pace of the last week. The show was engaging enough to allow them to enjoy a comfortable silence. John got up once to return their cups to the kitchen but after he sat back down, he didn’t move again. Neither did Sherlock.

John woke in the early hours of the morning. He was comfortable and warm, his neck supported and his sore shoulder padded against their Union Jack pillow. He’d fallen asleep on the sofa, and unsurprisingly, so had Sherlock. What was a bit of a surprise was the fact that they two had twined themselves together so that Sherlock’s back was against the cushions so that he lay sideways against John’s body! Their legs had done some kind of complicated tangle that kept both men from slipping off the small furnishing, and that kept John firmly against Sherlock. John had his head on Sherlock’s arm and his head was tucked up under Sherlock’s chin. He wasn’t sure it was physically possible for them both to be there together like that, but obviously, they’d managed.

John considered extracting himself. He was comfortable and happy. Instead, he settled himself a bit and thought about the last week. Sherlock’s arm tightened around his shoulder and a nose nuzzled into John’s hair but then, a soft snore against John’s scalp let him know that the detective was still sleeping hard. That was fine. John needed to have a bit of a think about things. He closed his eyes and went over the points that had made themselves know to him during this case. It was their first large one since he moved back to 221 B Baker Street. Much like their first case together, it had made an impression on the doctor. He needed to examine everything he’d realised.

John thought of the first day. They’d swept onto the scene where Sherlock had paused in the doorway. John watched as Sherlock’s gaze darted here and there, his eyes partially slitting as he focused on details big and small. After his first cursory glance, Sherlock proceeded into the room and began to deconstruct the scene via a stream-of-consciousness rant provoked by each piece of information he absorbed. John had watched with new eyes as Sherlock used every part of himself to gather his data.

Sherlock always began with his eyes. He had spent years rigorously training himself to see, really see. Sherlock was capable of walking through a room and perfectly recalling the placement of each item therein. His peripheral vision was exemplary and gave John the impression that Sherlock could see in all directions at all times. It was impressive. John worked to improve his skills but it would take a lot of practice to come close to Sherlock’s skill level.

Sherlock utilised all his senses. After a good looking over, the tall thin man paced his way around the scene, kneeling to smell, to touch, and sometimes, much to John’s dismay, to taste. “Sherlock, stop licking things!” Lestrade had been both stern and amused as Sherlock licked the light switch panel.

“ _Clay,_ Lestrade. An excellent grade. Note the dusty yet earthy scent.” Sherlock had announced. “The victim’s hands had the same distinctive scent and strangely enough, so did his feet.” Sherlock got on his hands and knees, sniffing at the flooring until he followed an invisible trail to the bedroom. Sherlock ran the pads of his fingers over the seams of the woodwork, his head cocked and ear only millimetres away from the boards. Tapping his fingers and sniffing, Sherlock made his way to an interior wall. Upon further examination it turned out that the interior wall was fully enclosed within the flat itself and in fact, had a secret door which Sherlock also discovered.

Here John’s memories were less happy. Sherlock had found the dead man’s private workroom. Inside, they all learned that he wasn’t the victim of whomever had been kidnapping the people connected to their case, he was in fact, the murderer. John was sure he’d never be able to enjoy statuary again, not after seeing what the man had done with the bodies and several hundred pounds of sculpting clay. The insane artist had accidentally poisoned himself by making his own glazes from an unwise assortment of ingredients. His accomplice had alerted the authorities by letting one of their most recent victims escape before getting the chance to silence them forever and then by trying to run and hide from Sherlock and John. Clearly, that had not worked out well for them.

John thought for a little while about how comfortable he was, and that how he knew very well that people who were just friends fell asleep on sofas together and then automatically spooned, at least, not generally. He wasn’t bothered by the fact that the body next to his was the same gender. In the face of everything, it seemed irrelevant and unimportant. Instead, John wondered what it would be like to have Sherlock’s skills at a moment like this. What would Sherlock see? What would he smell? How did he taste? What did he feel like? How did he sound when he was coming undone? These were all questions John wanted answers to.

John drowsed for an hour or so more, shifting himself so that he and Sherlock were more face to face. The detective’s grip on him never stopped and it made John smile. Without thinking, he tilted his head a bit and managed to press his mouth to Sherlock’s chin. He heard a bit of a snuffle as Sherlock mumbled a bit in his sleep but then, a pair of lips sought his. John didn’t mind one bit about the sourness of their mouths. Sherlock was kissing him and it was exactly what he wanted. Eventually it ended and a confused voice said, “John?”

“Shh, sleep some more. It’s early.” He felt Sherlock nod and then he felt Sherlock’s other arm go around him, holding him closer than ever. Silently, John did the same, draping on arm over Sherlock’s thin waist as he drifted off as well.

He woke much later. His shoulder and neck were stiff but he didn’t care because a gentle hand was stroking his cheek. “John.” Sherlock’s voice was deep and as gentle as his touch, “Are you sure, John?”

John didn’t need clarification about his reference. “Are you?” Sherlock’s answer was to kiss John again, wriggling around until he was laying on top of John, their mouths glued together. It was lovely and sweet, everything John needed right then, and he couldn’t imagine being happier, “May I take you to bed, John?”

Sherlock was kissing his way over John’s face as he nodded. They smiled at one another as they got up, Sherlock taking John by the hand as they stumbled forward. Sherlock wanted John to lay down first but John had something he wanted to do. Getting Sherlock on his back, John straddled him, leaning forward to kiss the detective softly, “This is how we should have been years ago.”

Sherlock nodded, his eyes dark and stormy as he gazed up at John, “I’ve thought as much, many times.” He then rolled them over, taking John’s mouth, and allowing his hands to begin roaming.

John Watson had many lovers in his past. None had prepared him for the experience Sherlock gave him for their first time. Every single one of the detective’s highly trained senses was focused on John. John was touched, tasted, admired, and most definitely smelled. Sherlock seemed intent on memorizing all of John’s factors, especially the sounds he was beginning to make as Sherlock made love to him.

John might have expected it to be awkward but it wasn’t. Sherlock clearly wasn’t very experienced but he did know more than enough to guide John through the process of preparing his body to receive the doctor. Everything progressed in an easy and relaxed way, their movements languid and almost worshipful as they learned each other. John decided to do his own bit of memorisation, sucking tender bits of flesh here and there, nibbling others, and slowly driving the consulting detective to distraction with need.

Sherlock had some nearly expired condoms he’d found at the bottom of his bedside drawer, “They weren’t for anyone, John, I was using them to contain…”

John cut him off with a fast kiss, “I don’t care. Give me one.” Sherlock tossed him a foil packet before arranging himself, “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” explained John as he added what Sherlock complained was an excessive amount of lubrication, “Right now, more is better.”

Sherlock was eager as well as edgy, pushing John onto his back the second the condom was on. “You are too gentle, darling man, and I am out of patience.” John was thrilled to have Sherlock refer to him by any sort of endearment but before he could manage to think of something similar to use on Sherlock the taller man reached behind himself to position John. Carefully but not slowly, Sherlock sat back, “Oh!”

His eyes were wide and John couldn’t tell if it was in pain or something else, “Are you alright, this feels amazing but this isn’t a race!”

Sherlock just closed his eyes and kept pushing back and down until John was entirely inside him. When he opened his eyes, Sherlock looked absolutely wrecked, his cheeks flushed a hectic red, his eyes wild looking and his chest heaving, “Please move.” His voice was husky and filled with a new sort of desperation that John had not heard before, “I can’t.”

John understood. Sherlock was overwhelmed with sensation and couldn’t make his body respond but he needed the friction as much as John did. Carefully, John began to rock his hips, keeping his eyes on Sherlock as he moved. Sherlock wasn’t satisfied with his slow progress, his eyes snapping open as he glared down at John. John grinned up at him, “Hold on, gorgeous.”

Sherlock barely had time to put his palms on John’s chest before the soldier thrust upward, hard. Sherlock gasped. John thrust hard a second time. Sherlock sighed. John repositioned himself just a bit and thrust again, and this time Sherlock made a strange sound, almost a mewl, perhaps a whine, but it sounded small and broken and sexier than anything John had ever heard before. Sherlock seemed to lose control of his torso, flopping forward and laying on top of John, his face pressed to John’s ear and hair as he moaned, “Harder.”

John rolled them over, setting his knees, gripping Sherlock’s spread thighs and bucking roughly forward. Sherlock’s eyes were wide open now, and his mouth was hanging open a bit as he panted, “So beautiful, Sherlock, you’re gorgeous like this. I’m going to make you look just like this a million times, I swear.”

“John, too good, not going to…” Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut, “John. I am going to orgasm…now.” With a groan and a shout Sherlock did exactly that. John was astonished. They’d hardly begun but Sherlock was squeezing down on him hard, his body throbbing and rocking so perfectly that all John needed to do was focus a tiny bit and ride those good feeling all the way to an orgasm of his own.

For a long time, Sherlock just stayed where he was. Slowly, his hand crept up, tracing it’s way up John’s body. John felt the tip of Sherlock’s tongue flick out to touch his ear, and felt the puff of air being sucked away as Sherlock smelled his hair and then his neck, “I love you, John Watson. This possibly wasn’t the longest time you’ve ever been in bed with someone, but I swear if you’ll give me a next time, it will be better.”

John smiled, well content now, “It was perfect. We’re still in bed together, I’m not too willing to leave it just yet, or possibly ever. I love you too, Sherlock, I just never let myself see us like this. I’m happy now, I’ll be happy to give you all my next times.”

They felt silent then, drowsing stickily together. Sherlock’s hand didn’t cease it’s exploration, nor did Sherlock move further away than John’s side. He seemed to be collecting data about John but that was fine, just fine. Closing his eyes, John Watson fell asleep with a smile, loved and cherished by his lover, Sherlock Holmes.


End file.
